


eroding control

by ashinan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Episode 50, Episode Related, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Magic, Original Monster - Freeform, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: They stick with the original plan: Yasha with Jester and Caleb with Fjord.





	eroding control

**Author's Note:**

> back when episode 50 happened, there was that scene where Fjord immediately said he would take Caleb across the lava palace/fortress/thing until Jester pointed out that maaaaaybe she should take Caleb instead. a very wonderful person on twitter, [Hoples](https://twitter.com/smoreyellow), mentioned WHAT IF and my brain just kind of made a gear grinding noise and now here we are. this is mostly a character study and me being a bit of a brat in regards to the copious amounts of Fjord feels I have, but I promise that its not all Fjord being introspective. I maaaay have taken a few liberties with how certain spells are described but honestly how could I not when there is some cool shit you can do with 'Control ELEMENT' okay
> 
> also I can't seem to write these dorks doing anything more than really tentative and innocent touches. they're so soft??? with each other???? ANYWAY

The heat is unbelievable. It boils the air, shimmers in brilliant waves around the chamber. Reds alight the cavern in a haunting glow, thick sludges of colour smeared over stones gone black and shining. Even with growing up on the coast, this kind of temperature is nowhere near anything Fjord has experienced. It sticks in his lungs, clogs them up worse than any drowning, and yet sears them at the same time. He despises it instantly, his tongue damn near dry against his cracked lips. The rest of the Nein aren’t much better off.

Caduceus wets a number of small cloths he has tucked away, passing them out for everyone to wear as they discuss the buddy system. The longer they discuss, the more difficult it is to focus. The heat _burrows_ , sinks into the very marrow of his core, beats up his lungs until each breath is a wheeze. Fjord douses another cloth and does the same for Beau and Caleb. They have a system. They have a plan.

For once they thought ahead.

His spell fails. Well, he manages to conjure the manticore, gives it a bit more of a fire theme with the whole lava setting, plumage bright as phoenix fire. The guards barely give it a blink, setting their entire plan into motion down one distraction. Nott disappears, Caduceus shrinks down, and Beau takes off. Jester hauls Yasha into the portal and Fjord darts out into the main foyer. The tunnel they’re aiming for seems leagues away now, far beyond what a spell can accomplish. They can’t back out now.

Magic crackles up and around his fingers. Lightning sparks and twists, humming with a thunderous roar leashed for a single moment. Brine bubbles at the back of Fjord’s tongue as he focuses on the far side of the chamber. Calculates. The lightning tightens into a focal point in the palm of his hand. The air shimmers. Fjord throws out his other arm toward where Caleb is beelining straight for him.

The giant hits first.

It hadn’t factored into his calculations at the time, the giant hucking a massive slab of molten rock. Should’ve, definitely. The sheer surprise of it belays the shock and absolute _agony_ that floods through him as the rock strikes. The heat triples, _burns_ , and Fjord chains his scream behind his teeth. Impossible heat. His gaze whitens into bubbles against his vision, blurring everything into a mess of darkness and pain. Salt bursts over his tongue, the spray of seawater, as Fjord retains focus on the spell. His thoughts reel. He can’t fuck this up. He already fucked up the distraction. He has to get Caleb across -

The fucking cow rams him. Gores him with horns _just_ long enough to do some real damage. The spell fizzles in his palm, lightning arcing into the air and disappearing, as blood coughs up over his cracked lips. He retains focus on the spell through sheer spite at that point.

The cow has the audacity to snort in anger at him afterwards.

Caleb darts around the side of the cow and reaches. Fjord catches him around the waist, fingers tight, staggering under the combined effect of two vicious attacks and Caleb’s momentum. The falchion appears in an arc of seawater, sizzling in the insane heat, before all that concentrated energy booms out in a brilliant and devastating flash. Lightning catches in the blue of Caleb’s gaze as the magic takes hold.

The familiar hook snags beneath Fjord’s diaphragm. A ricochet of power slams into the blackened stones and for the first time since the dreams took hold of him, the cool wash of ocean water and a blast of icy air is a welcoming reprieve. Swirls of darkness and bubbles, of slit yellow eyes surveying, of an immediate and crushing disappointment, all flash by in an instant.

That single comforting moment is blown away when they return: the air burns as Fjord gasps it in, his skin steaming as residual water is scorched off, and molten flame replaces the cool ocean deep. Caleb stumbles, catching himself on the wall. Fjord claws at his armour. Alight. Burning. Gods above, he can’t _breathe_.  

Until this moment, drowning had been horrible enough, but the concept of being burned alive kicks his panic into overdrive.

“Fjord!” the others call and hands pat against him. Beau shouts out something amongst the frantic chatter before bolting back into the main chamber. Sweat collects and drips down Fjord’s face; his skin steams and the pain triples. He can’t escape, his lungs working like bellows, but he’s breathless. The sting of his armour burns his fingertips. There are too many hands on him, too many people around him, too much asking and demanding and pleading. He can’t breathe.

Chilled palms catch his cheeks and cradle his jaw. Fjord shackles thin wrists in reaction, and Caleb’s electric gaze holds Fjord’s. “Breathe, _Bärchen_ , I have you.”

At first, the cool of Caleb’s hands flashes red hot, enough that Fjord chokes on an embarrassing whimper. Caleb purses his lips and rubs his thumbs over Fjord’s cheekbones, before drawing his palms down Fjord’s throat and against the sizzle of his skin. Every pass grants a wave of relief; Fjord sways forward in bliss, a rumble purring involuntarily out of his chest. Caleb’s quiet smile fills his vision. More heat dissipates from Fjord’s skin.  

Caleb continues on, the heat retreating, following his touch like mice to a pied piper. Fjord closes his eyes. His lungs clear. Around him, the air sizzles and crackles, but Caleb’s touch soothes. Fingers pet along his cheeks again. Fjord breathes, lashes fluttering. His skin still hurts, pangs, like a bruise priming to bloom, but he’s no longer on fire.

“There you are,” Caleb whispers, drawing away. Fjord panics and yanks. The heat doesn’t return, thankfully, but Caleb stumbles closer with a surprised exhale. Fjord stares. Molten lava drips from between Caleb’s fingers, gathered as a liquid pool in Caleb’s cupped palms, and sizzles against the ground while leaving Caleb’s skin completely unblemished.

“The spell does not limit what kind of ‘fire’ I can control,” Caleb explains, gaze sparking with the arcane. Swirls of red, orange, and yellow flicker through the blue of his eyes, like mixing fire and water, and his cheeks flush beneath the heat.  He’s absolutely beautiful like this. His scars stand in faint but stark relief against his skin, but it just adds to the sheer impossibility of what Caleb accomplished. Fjord shakes with laughter, quiet; hysterical. Caleb’s eyes crinkle up.

Lava oozes between Caleb’s fingers. It does no harm. Fjord trembles in both exhaustion and shock, unable to truly parse the fact that this small unbelievable human drew lava from his skin. That even now, Caleb holds molten fire in his hands without flinching. Without burning. Sheer awe swells in Fjord’s chest and shoves his heart into a different kind of rhythm.

A shout, followed by Beau darting into the tunnel. They all turn. Caduceus flows to his feet, staff coming down with the most delicate of taps, and stone grinds and groans, stretching to block off the entrance only at the behest of magic. Beau tumbles to the ground, Nott’s smoking form tucked in close. Caleb immediately extinguishes the lava in his hands, a pained noise of despair keening out of him, and drops to his knees beside Beau and Nott’s side. Fjord sags, stumbling until his back hits the wall. His fingers tingle. He’s blessedly cooled. Nott’s unresponsive, even as Caleb casts the same spell again, trembling as he draws the heat from her scorched skin.

Everything after is a blur of adrenaline, healing magic, and running. Fleeing down a tunnel that never changes. They run until their pursuers are nothing but silence and run a little further. Caleb eventually calls for a halt in the middle of another crystal cavern. He and Caduceus do their usual song and dance, carving out a hole for them all to sleep in while Caleb carefully structures the Hut into something resembling a crushed geode. Caduceus drags stones and crystals down over it until the illusion is complete.

Nott blearily watches over Beau’s shoulder. Caleb had pulled most of the lava off of her, had transferred the heat into glowing ember orbs that he’d vanquished at the first opportunity. Pink lichen covers much of Nott’s skin, soothing the hurt, and it bundles around her shins and feet like fuzzy neon socks. She looks a comfy backpack for Beau, though more than once they’ve had to catch her as she nods off and her grip goes lax. Caduceus and Jester feed more healing magic into her until she’s bathed in their combined divinity.

Even with the protection of the dome, Fjord can’t sleep. Too many possibilities fly around his head. He takes first watch, settling at the very edge of the magical Hut. Each blink, flames rise in the darkness, so real that Fjord spends minutes at a time turning over his hands in disbelief. Unharmed. The Hut is impervious to attacks and magic, but that doesn’t stop it from being seen, and Fjord can’t shake the idea of the giants finding them and pummelling their tiny hut until it disappears and they’re all left dead. Nott had come so close. Fjord bows his head.

Half way through his shift, Caleb folds down beside Fjord. Frumpkin sprawls in Caleb’s lap, the most spoilt kitty Fjord has ever met, and even though he’s allergic, he can’t help chucking Frumpkin under the chin and giving him a good scratch. Frumpkin melts into Fjord’s touch, his purr like the crackle of a homey fire. Fjord smiles.

“Anything interesting?” Caleb asks, skritching along Frumpkin’s spine. The purring rumbles louder.

Shaking his head, Fjord says, “Pretty sure I saw an eye on one of those stalagmites but that could just be paranoia. Otherwise, quiet as anything else. How’s Nott?”

Caleb’s fingers pause and Frumpkin chirps in confusion. He resumes his petting. “She is better. Jester and Beau are keeping an eye on her. Caduceus as well. I did not - hm.” Caleb pauses, jaw working. Soot transfers from his skin to Frumpkin’s orange fur, leaving streaks that mingle into shadows. “We left her alone to traverse the entirety of that chamber. Invisible, yes, but alone. We need to be better.”

Wincing, Fjord retracts his fingers. Frumpkin’s luminous eyes open, the pupils heavily dilated, and he chirps at the loss. Fjord sighs. “S’my fault. They didn’t fall for the illusion. We were down a distraction that could’ve saved Nott.”

Caleb snorts unattractively, eyebrows furrowing. “That is _blödsinn_  and you know it. The giants were formidable foes that saw through an illusion – a very well made illusion, but an illusion nonetheless – and we continued with the plan instead of regrouping. It does not fall to you to fix every problem.”

Even with the calm sincerity in Caleb’s voice, it does little to assuage the guilt twisting Fjord’s stomach into tangled knots. Ever since the Iron Shepherds, he’s been on edge. They left the others alone and immediately lost Molly; Gods, even when he was singled out for torture by the Shepherds, both Yasha and Jester fought viciously to keep him safe. _Him_. There was no reason for them to do that. Hell, when they were on the water, his home, he was left floundering like a guppy and damn near got everyone killed. That they stayed with him after that clusterfuck is amazing. That Caleb’s attempting to reassure him – well, some leader Fjord turned out to be.

“It was the main distraction in our plan and I botched it. Nott almost died. Not to mention you.” Fjord twists his fingers together, claws pricking his skin. His file is around here somewhere. “I should’ve sent you with Jester. All of it went to shit so fast.”

“Fjord,” Caleb begins, two fingers tapping against Fjord’s tense wrist. His skin is so warm compared to before when it was a cooling balm. “Fjord, you cannot blame yourself for plans going awry. We are not well known for our plans in the first place; this one was one of our more thought out and well executed strategies. Things go wrong. We adapt.”

Fjord doesn’t reply. Every blink there’s fire. Every blink there’s that damn boulder getting hucked at him. Every blink there’s Caleb running to intercept, and if the giant had been slower, if Fjord had lost the spell, if, if, if.  Fjord exhales sharply, twisting his head away when Caleb gently hooks his fingers against Fjord’s wrist.

Beyond the edge of the dome, fractured shadows mingle with the bruised shimmer of the crystal cavern. Fjord sucks in a breath. Stale air and earthy rot. That familiar ozone that lingers around Caleb like an arcane shroud. Candy sweetness and floral accents from Jester and Caduceus, trading spells over Nott’s resting form. Copper. Soot. Scorched air and grave dug earth. Fjord drops his head into his hands and shakes.

“I think this tunnel is gettin’ to me,” Fjord whispers.

Caleb pats at his knee with a hummed acknowledgement. “We went from open seas to deep underground. It is quite a shock.”

Fjord laughs humourlessly. “Also managed to stumble across a lava fortress. Ain’t we just rolling in good fortune.”

“No one died,” Caleb points out. He’s back to petting Frumpkin, two fingers against the crown of Frumpkin’s head followed by aggressive scritches down the arch of Frumpkin’s spine. Frumpkin’s purr roars to life. “We may have gotten hurt, but nothing truly life threatening. Nott is all right. You are all right. I would say that is a success, _ja_?”

Peering at Caleb from between his fingers, Fjord contemplates the truly remarkable ability for Caleb to compartmentalize. Yes, no one died but they came damn close. Yes, Nott and him are okay, but only because Caleb literally drew the lava from their skin, and Caduceus and Jester were trigger happy with their healing spells outside of combat. And yes, they were actually all right. Didn’t mean they had a plan for later; aside from rescuing Nott’s husband, they had no clue as to how they were going to infiltrate Xhoras. Rotten luck all around.

“Fjord?” Caleb asks. Fjord drops his hands, fingers curled loose against his thighs. “I am sorry we did not act sooner to make sure no one was hurt.”

“That’s not – no, Caleb, don’t apologize for that,” Fjord says quickly. “We had no way of knowin’ that the giants would attack like that or that Nott wouldn’t be able to sneak by them while invisible. It was a solid plan until it wasn’t.”

Caleb eyes light up. “Exactly.”

Oh, the _brat_. Fjord narrows his eyes. Somehow, Caleb had talked his way around until Fjord was defending their mediocre plan. Ridiculous. A small smile flirts with Caleb’s lips, but he hides it in Frumpkin’s fur by pretending to snuggle into his purring Familiar’s lax belly. Frumpkin chirps his irritation and squirms until Caleb resettles, but his lips remain quirked up.

Fjord drops his elbow to his knee, chin cupped in his palm. A laugh rumbles out of him. “I see what you did there, Widogast. Well done.”

The compliment sends a furious blush over too pale cheeks; Caleb’s smile is a pleased flash of teeth and a twinkle in his eye, elated at a job well done, even if that job was cheering Fjord up. Confidence looks good on Caleb, wipes the lines from his face and lightens the circles beneath his eyes. Almost as beautiful as when he stood with lava pouring over his skin, untouched and bleeding magic. His sooty fingers bury deep in Frumpkin’s ruff, and the constant purr settles them both into comfortable silence.  

Across the way, the shadows part and shift around a creature picking its way carefully across the ceiling. Both Fjord and Caleb snap to, the easy atmosphere shifting to an alert. It’s a bulbous mass of fractured light, a fat and grotesque mishmash of jerky limbs and roiling flesh. Thin legs scuttle over the crystal, searching, poking, before piercing into the crystal shelf with a violence akin to skewering meat. No sound resonates in the cavern. Cracks branch out into fractals. The creature continues forward, each step searching, each movement precise. There are no definitive features within the writhing darkness.

The sheer size of the cavern they’ve settled in coupled with the darkness of the creature and its slow but threatening meander across, churns Fjord’s gut. His fingers twitch for the falchion. Beside him, Caleb has wrapped Frumpkin around his neck, puffing up his jacket to hide most of his Familiar except for the luminous interest reflected in Frumpkin’s eyes. The creature can’t see them. Of that, Fjord is certain. Yet…

It settles in the centre of the crystal like a content spider. The fractures in the crystal refract and catch the shadows, creating a deep and troubling spider’s web. It’s strangely – alluring, a beckoning of sorts. Fjord watches it. There’s a distinct sense of being watched back.

“Should we wake the others?” Caleb asks, low, whispering. The creature doesn’t shift, but its attention slides away from Fjord, a relief that pebbles his skin. Caleb shudders. “It cannot, technically, see us. But it can hear.”

Fjord shakes his head. “Not yet. If it decides to attack, we can retaliate, but there’s no reason for us to get everyone else all riled up.”

They descend back into silence, tense with the unwelcome addition of a potential enemy. Caleb occasionally scratches at his elbow or his wrist, gaze riveted on the spider hunched so still in the middle of their crystal haven. Each shift draws Fjord’s attention to the scars littering Caleb’s skin in faint crisscrossed arrays. Like thousands of tiny silver worms, rough spines jutting up, poised beneath Caleb’s skin in hibernation. An itch festers under Fjord’s skin but he refrains from scratching.

The horror of Caleb’s confession still plays in Fjord’s dreams when Uk’otoa isn’t drowning him. Were the gems embedded? Removed? Only half buried but in such a way that the flesh fought to push them out? Caleb had been young; that much had been made clear. The concept nauseates him. Even though Fjord is no innocent when it comes to traumatic childhoods, Vandren had softened that trauma into something malleable and easy for Fjord to – not deal with, exactly, but it no longer shackled him. Not like Caleb’s.

If Vandren had been that cold and calculated, uncaring in how Fjord felt throughout those formative years – well, he wouldn’t be here, that’s for damn sure. Then again, Vandren wasn’t exactly someone Fjord _knew_ anymore.

Caleb startles him out of musing. “Fjord, may I ask you something?”

“’Course. What’s up?”

Caleb’s gaze remains riveted on the creature. “Are you all right?”

Blinking, Fjord glances down at himself. Sure, his armour is a bit more scuffed up than usual, mostly because of the giant’s solid aim, and there’s a bloom of ash burned into the breastplate. The blisters have faded and all that’s left is tender green skin, still healing but no longer disabling. He’d scraped off the pink lichen from Caduceus’ divinity some hours ago. Might leave some neat scars.

Fjord says, “Cad got me with his healing. I’ll be finding that lichen for weeks, I swear.”

“That is not what I meant, _Bärchen_ ,” Caleb says with a fond chuckle. Fjord raises a brow. Caleb has called him that twice now. “It has been some time since we – checked in? – on each other. If we are to make this work, it seems important, _ja_?”

“I’m fine,” Fjord says on reflex. The lie settles atop a balloon of absolute bullshit that Fjord has been contending with, really, since the Iron Shepherds. Just another box he refuses to open. His dreams are stalked by torturous laughter, by watchful eyes, by Avantika’s cruel smile, her throat thinned by a Goliath’s grip. Often, his ankles are bound and he’s dragged down into the depths, the ocean deep tremors of the ship exploding shoving him further down. Fire and water. Burning and drowning. Fjord breathes sharply through his nose.

It’s not important; his issues aren’t at play here. They’re all here for Nott, here to hold her up when she falters, here to shield her when things go to hell. Just like they all did for Fjord upon the open seas.

Sort of.

Caleb’s brows pinch. He finally pulls his gaze away from the spider, giving Fjord his full attention. It’s dizzying. “You are lying.”

Fjord licks dry lips, his throat swelling with everything he refuses to acknowledge. “Doesn’t matter.”

A quick flash of hurt spreads over Caleb’s features like an ink spill. Before Fjord can stutter his way through an apology, Frumpkin trills, butting against Caleb’s cheek, and momentarily hiding Caleb’s expression before jumping into Caleb’s lap. Caleb glances down. “I see.”

“Caleb –”

“Fjord,” Caleb cuts him off, shoulders rolling back as he lifts his gaze, “I have not been the most forthright, nor the most curious when it comes to all of you since we began travelling together. That – originally, it was to keep you all from asking me about my past, my moods, and – just, me. That time has passed. I truly do wish to know, Fjord, if you are all right.”

Rarely is Caleb earnest but it’s blatant here. A quiet certainty coupled with the gleam of scars made known, of a trust that he’s extended. Fjord briefly wonders if Caleb would’ve ever divulged the information to them all if Nott hadn’t forced the issue. His words back when they were still a fledgling group, of one day talking with Fjord about his past, seem so distant in hindsight.

In the end, everything funnels down to a simple question for Fjord: does worrying the party about his eroding control benefit them? Not currently. Probably not ever. Well, it may become relevant if his dreams keep ramping up, if the all-seeing eyes narrow in disappointed malice, and the dreams take on a decidedly – more lethal tone. Fjord’s pretty sure one can’t die in a dream. Hopefully. As it stands, Uk’otoa’s displeasure at Fjord’s continued trek inland hasn’t affected his abilities yet, or his protecting the rest of the group. That could change on a dime, though.

That’s not even touching on his experience with the Iron Shepherds. That stain has been shoved as deep as Fjord can manage, yet the resulting fissure runs right through every one of Fjord’s decisions. Confidence is easy to fake until it’s truly shaken, and the Iron Shepherds had wiped the floor with Fjord’s internal issues until he was a mess that Yasha and Jester were forced to protect. Another instance where he was caught off guard and paid for it.

He’s still digesting the whole thing with Avantika. Easier to hide trauma than deal with it. Easier to shove aside his own issues for the betterment of everyone else. Just…easier.

“Ask me in a couple days,” Fjord says, soft, quiet; he allows his real voice to come through, to pluck at each consonant with a foreign yet familiar lilt. Allows Caleb that single piece of truth without delving into the why. Caleb’s gaze snaps to his face, bright, knowing, eagerly triumphant, and Fjord clears his throat. Slips back into Vandren’s accent like a well-loved coat. “When this whole business is done, yeah?”

It’s a test. Not a well thought out one, but one nonetheless. Caleb’s caught him a few times when he’s slipped, when he’s fallen back into familiar waters in the midst of chaos. Yet Caleb never says anything, never picks up the bread crumbs that Fjord’s been casting haphazardly around himself, primarily when their resident wizard goes down in a fight after executing something impossible. Now, alone together, Fjord pushes. Caleb watches. His scrutiny settles over Fjord’s skin like the heat of an open hearth.

Caleb nods, slow, maintaining that electric eye contact. “Till after, then.”

He does not mention Fjord’s purposeful slip. Instead, he quirks a slight smile, broken and delicate and so damn stunning Fjord’s breath catches. He’s hyper aware of the gallop his heart takes off into, how the churning in his gut is a terrifyingly exceptional feeling. He hasn’t felt this way in – well, a while now. His cheeks flush. Not noticeable in the dim light of the lantern Caleb’s cast, but still present. Caleb ducks his head with a huffed laugh, burying his fingers in Frumpkin’s fur.

They settle back into a quiet contemplation, content to let the silence stretch, only the soft breathing of their companions as background noise. Caleb pets Frumpkin absently. Fjord exhales. With the conversation over, he’s left uncharacteristically floundering. What does one say after basically shutting down a line of questioning? Does he wait until Caleb says something? Should he just blurt out something else to ease the tension? His gaze catches on the spider, a still and blighted presence in the middle of that crystal eye. Its legs constantly caress the stone in slow, menacing patterns.

A touch. Frumpkin stretches over Caleb’s lap to lay a proprietary paw on Fjord’s wrist, claws flexing but not biting in, blinking slow and satisfied up at Fjord when he glances down. Frumpkin’s lyrical purr vibrates against Fjord’s skin. Fjord flicks his eyes up. Caleb’s blushing furiously in the gloom, gaze fixed firmly in the distance, clearly ignoring what his Familiar is doing.

Frumpkin chirps, settling down with a wiggle, and another flex of his claws against Fjord’s skin. Content. Pleased. Fjord gently rubs a finger against Frumpkin’s toes, smiling when Frumpkin trills and pushes into the touch. They’ve all joked that Frumpkin is the embodiment of Caleb’s emotions. Because of Fjord’s allergies he’s rarely on the receiving end of Frumpkin’s – and by proxy, Caleb’s – affection. This, though. This lights up the cobwebbed spaces of his heart and floods him with adoration. Dammit. He smooths a claw over Frumpkin’s nails. Caleb’s so red Fjord worries he’ll combust.

“If he is bothering you, just move him,” Caleb chokes out.

Fjord shakes his head. Gifts Caleb with his true voice again: “It’s fine. I like him.”

A simple brush, Caleb’s thumb against Fjord’s, a pressure so minute Fjord fears he’s imagining it. Frumpkin purrs, rolling his head to the side, enough to nudge Fjord’s hand against Caleb’s. Definitely touching now. Fjord focuses on Frumpkin’s slit eyed expression, and not on the warmth of Caleb’s skin, on Caleb’s quiet inhale and shuddery exhale, on the two of them reacting like damn teenagers to an innocent touch.

Another dip of Frumpkin’s head and Fjord’s fingers tangle with Caleb’s, a loose interlocking that both could brush off as an accident. Fjord doesn’t, his tongue trapped against the roof of his mouth, his pulse a roar in his ears. Caleb squeezes lightly and Fjord reacts on instinct, twists their fingers together until it's obvious. Frumpkin settles his weight further, pressing them together more, and Fjord glances up to catch Caleb’s gaze.

Caleb’s eyes shimmer like the waters at night, a depthless void ringed with blue. His lips part on another exhale, bottom lip wet from the touch of his tongue, and Fjord chains down his immediate reaction. Doesn’t push. Wants, with a hunger familiar to him, but that he’s spent years training himself out of.

Fjord is used to wanting things; all his life he’s wanted a better start, a better home, a better _life_ , material concepts and items of frivolous but desired need. It was an ache that sat as an anchor in his stomach, a different hunger than what Uk’otoa brings forth. He’s wanted, but has grown used to never acquiring. People are different. _Caleb_ is different. Fjord runs a finger over Caleb’s knuckles and that yearning yawns wide.

Fjord is used to wanting. He’s not used to wanting _people_.

Without warning, Fjord sneezes. The suddenness and violence of it jerks their hands apart and Frumpkin jumps in surprise. Three more sneezes follow, until Fjord’s gasping between his teeth. “Well, seems I’m full up on comfort.”

Frumpkin stands, arching his back so hard his tongue pokes out, before he steps delicately out of Caleb’s lap and trots back into the camp. Fjord holds in another explosive sneeze until it leaves him in a kittenish wheeze. Caleb snorts, dry rasping laughter filling the silence between Fjord’s sniffles.

“I believe our shift is up anyway,” Caleb says, covering his giddy smile. Fjord rubs at his nose and staves off another sneezing fit. “I will wake Caduceus. Give you space from the cat hair.”

Fjord swallows an immediate disagreement; even covered in cat hair, Caleb’s company is all Fjord seeks. He nods and wrinkles his nose, fighting down another sneeze. Caleb pushes to his feet, dusting off his coat, and turns away.

Fjord clears his throat, loud in the silence. Caleb stalls, glancing over his shoulder, the faint light burnishing his hair a deep copper. The rest of him remains draped in shadows, the lantern glow casting reds and oranges over his chest, ethereal and wreathed in flame. Fjord’s heart won’t calm. He clears his throat again and says, “Thanks for - you know, sitting up with me.”

“Of course, _Bärchen_ , you need only ask.” Caleb ducks his head, a quiet smile twitching up his lips, and Fjord returns it. “Sleep well, Fjord.”

Fjord nods, heart warm and relief unknotting his spine. “You too, Caleb. Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [my fandom twitter](https://twitter.com/ashinanfandom?s=09) (where I am crying all the time about critrole) or [my nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/assinan13?s=09) if you want a bit more spice in your life!!


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